Horseshoe Heavy Equipment


Wandering down Horseshoe Road brought the druid Epilo'josia to a well-maintained side drive leading to a large barn and a smaller shoppe. A sign painted in common proclaimed this as the 'Horseshoe Heavy Equipment' company, with the single word, 'Outfitters,' below. There was some activity, and Epilo found his feet guiding him toward the shoppe.

The drive was lined with three large wagons, four busy porters and one very fat man. He had fancy boots and held a decorative cane; two assistants were at his side, one at each elbow, and each carried a sheaf of parchment.

"Are you quite sure that's twenty tents?" he questioned. His voice was squeaky, high-pitched, out of character for a man of his enormity.

"Yes, Chancellor, but I'll count them again." One assistant strode forward and rather showily began counting out loud the tents porters had loaded on one wagon.

A porter stepped up. "The four crates of apples are loaded, Chancellor."

The other assistant began making a mark on his parchments but was interrupted when the Chancellor rapped him on the leg with the cane. "Check it first before you check it off," the fat man chided. "Just because he says so doesn't make it so." He nodded toward the porter, who took the insult with a noticeable sag of the shoulders.

The assistant nodded, then followed the porter to the far wagon. The Chancellor noticed Epilo passing by, looked him up and down, sniffed unappreciatively into a handkerchief, and turned back to his wagons. "I don't see the barrel of pitch nor the sacks of horse-grain," he squeaked. A distant voice offered reassurances, which did not satisfy the Chancellor.

When Epilo reached the stoop the door opened on its own. A middle-aged man in hard leather boots and rolled-up sleeves held it for him. "Eunuchs," he scoffed, with a shake of his head. "They get so damn nit-picky. Welcome," he offered.

Epilo nodded his head in acknowledgement and stepped inside. The walls were loaded with hooks, tethers, shelves and nooks, each filled to the brim with adventuring gear. Skins for wine and water, stakes and lines for picketing horses, small and moderate cooking cauldrons, a chest of drawers meant to fit on the back of a food-drey.

On the floor was a display of strongboxes, each with a different capacity or a different shape. "Well, I'm sure that large one weighs more than you do," a sweet voice told him. Epilo turned and met Brandy, a woman in her twenties with a fresh face and a fit physique. The druid kept his eyes from wandering as he nodded and gave his name, but it was not easy.

"Indeed it must," he answered, weakly, looking at the reinforced chest with iron bands and three locks. "Looks heavy. Maybe you can help me carry it to my room at the Inn."

There was an awkward silence. Brandy cleared her throat, looking with some anger at the druid, who slowly realized he'd made an error in judgment. "I'm sorry," he began, but she quickly cut him off.

"Worry not. The roughs around here have said worse, and showed their worse side," she dismissed. "What did you come in for, and how many do you need?"

Epilo froze. "A... a blanket," he stuttered. "Just one, I think."

Brandy harrumphed. "This way," she led, and the druid followed. His eyes fully appreciated Brandy from this perspective. She stopped, he stopped. She pointed, he looked.

"We have locally woven, there, but the fabric is thin. We have imported blankets from the farmlands, they're the best but they soak up water and do not like to dry fast. We have the oversized horse blankets; that's what men like you seem to prefer." Her arms were crossed and there was a bit of an attitude about her, now.

Epilo's brow wrinkled at the characterization, and Brandy sighed. She rubbed her head, which brought a delightful wiggle to her torso, and spoke in more gentle tones after. "No offense meant. You're some man-at-arms or of the adventuring sort, right? You sleep on the ground, not in some officer's cot or a rich man's feather-bed. These blankets are rough to the touch but they'll keep you warm and shed the morning mist." She hefted one and held it out.

Epilo shifted his weight and took the blanket in one hand; his holy symbol slid out from beneath his robe, and Brandy took note. "Elhonna be praised," she said, with a nod, and the druid returned the greeting. "Usually people who want just one thing go to the gear vendors, not an outfitter like us. I'm used to selling thirty of these blankets at a single time. To sell just one is almost funny. Take it, Epilo. A gift from our clan to a woodsie." She looked at him and smiled; it was the most beautiful smile he'd seen in years.

She noticed his admiration and blushed a little. "Get going," she said, in jest, pushing him gently toward the door. "Go make your fortune and get better clothes. Then, come back again." She escorted him to the doorway.

"Put my gift to good use. When you come back, bring a gift for me." She literally guided him through the door and closed it behind him, leaving him alone on the stoop with naught but a final smile shown as the portal closed.

Ah, but what a smile, Epilo'josia thought to himself. He hugged the new blanket close, imagined he could smell her upon it, and wandered back toward Horseshoe Road in a enchanted daze.

River Quarter